Te Amo
by Julia Biancardi
Summary: Romano goes overboard yelling at Spain and without thinking the older nation lashes out at him. Romano, obviously, is hurt, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional need for Antonio's comfort, and Spain? He runs, too ashamed that he hurt his little Italy. Spamano, one shot.


A scorching Spanish sun emitted rays of light that streamed into Spain's bedroom. The nation woke up, eyes closed, and became conscious of the red glow of the back of his eyelids. Antonio was reluctant to open his eyes. His body sweat profusely, clothes clinging to him, back and shoulders sore from the way he slept, but, still, he was the boss and as The Boss he had to wake up early, no matter how bothersome the situation was.

His eyes opened when the sound of something shattering crashed against his eardrums. Shooting up, pain forgotten, he rushed to the kitchen. Anger bubbled up at the site of a smashed plate and a fuming Romano, but he repressed it. Instead, he just gave his subordinate a stern look and inquired as to why there was broken porcelain on his floor.

"I was trying to wash the stupid dishes and a chipped one cut my fucking finger," Romano snarled as if that justified him in the destruction of one of Antonio's good plates.

"That's not a healthy way to express your anger, Little Tomato," Spain chided in an almost playful manor at the young nation, bending down with the protests of his aching body, and began picking up the shards.

"Don't call me a fucking tomato!" Romano hissed, face flushing deeper as if too contradict himself. "It's not like this is my fault anyway! I bet you're the one who chipped the fucking plate in the first place you tomato bastard. In fact, you're going to pick this up all by yourself because it's all your fault anyway."

"Romano, don-"

"Shut up bastard!" He glowered at the cleaning man.

"Now now," Spain scolded, covering up his bubbling anger with a stern voice, "that's no way to talk to boss."

"Boss?" Romano scoffed. "If anything I'm the boss, idiot. You're the one cleaning up the mess I made like a pathetic bastard. Couldn't be a boss if you tried." Antonio's lip twitched at the comment, thinking of his conquered territories and all the time he put into running everything. It almost made him snap, but stubbornly he pushed his anger below a calm demeanor. This was just a way the Romano was, hiding everything with a front of indifferent anger. Spain could deal with it.

When he was done taking care of the mess Romano gave him a passing look, glaring daggers. "Make me some food. I'm starving." He stomped off into another room.

Antonio sighed, mumbling a quick, "_Si, mi querido," _before preparing a quick breakfast omelette with tomato in hopes it would win over the always angry Romano.

"Here's your breakfast!" he bounced into the living room with a bright smile.

Romano scowled and took the plate, "_Grazie, _bastard."

Spain laughed and took a seat behind the couch table on his knees, resting his head in his palms as he smiled at Romano, watching him eat.

Romano thought it was creepy.

"Hey, tomato bastard! Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Not at the moment, _amor," _he smiled wider.

"You're weird," Romano grumbled at the nickname, nibbling on his breakfast. "Go away."

"No way, Jose!"

"Yes way, bastard!" Romano was getting tired of the perverted Spain. Stupid jerk bastard didn't know when to quit his damn game. Romano would have to make him. "If you don't leave I swear to God I'm going to hit you."

"You hit me all the time, _amor," _Antonio tilted his head to one side, chuckling inwardly at the frustrated Romano. "It's not much of a threat anymore."

Romano blinked and in a flash his breakfast omlette smack against the Spaniard's unsuspecting face. It fell partway onto the floor at the other half slopping onto the long glass table. Antonio was shocked, to say the least, but not quite mad yet.

"Oi, Romano, what was that for?" His accent thickened as he felt his signature pout gracing his features. Antonio didn't know why Romano had to be so mean to him, all he did was try to make him happy and the boy always retaliated in some verbal or physical way. The Spaniard never showed it, but every once in a while it got to him and latched onto his feelings like a leach. He always told himself this was just the way Romano was to everyone, but sometimes he believe the smaller nation really hated him.

"It's for being a jerk bastard," Romano huffed, crossing his arms and standing. Antonio stood too, taking a few large steps back from the mostly clean glass table in case the boy threw something else at him.

Those few steps annoyed Romano. Spain was the one person who wasn't supposed to run away from him. Growling he walked around to the other side of the table, huffing in irritation and raising his voice. "You idiot! Why can't you ever do anything I tell you to? You were asking for it! Calling me your _amor _and watching me eat like a fucking creep! Hey! Are you even listening to me?" Romano was nearly screaming at this point.

Spain had been listening to him at first, but as the boy glared at him and continued on his yelling the actual meaning of the words were lost like background noise. He loved Romano, but he could be a mean, disrespectful little brat. Rage bubbled up like lava and all he could hear was the nation yelling, calling him an idiot, screaming at him for no reason. It was maddening. His fists were shaking, jaw clenching as he stared at Romano's red face. Couldn't the nation ever shut up? Hold his tongue and be a polite little Italy? Why did he have to be so irritable and mean?

Even Antonio's thoughts seemed to fade away as his body tensed, nothing but raw anger left as an Italian accent screeched shrilly in his ears. His body was hot with the anger, barely able to contain it. The rage he felt was far stronger, bigger and more intense than he could hold. It felt familiar, an old kind of emotion that rose so easily in his conquistador days until he learned to shut it down, but now? Now it was all he felt, all he needed.

Before the Italian could even process what was happening he was backhanded. Antonio watched in almost a slow motion. The boy falling to his side, body crashing onto the edge of the glass table as his shoulder smacked against it in the middle, shattering straight through and collapsing onto the floor. Shards of glass flew around Romano, some digging into his side. He curled in on himself as he hit the unforgiving ground. Pain flowed through his side, hot, throbbing, and sharp. A strangled gasp brought Antonio through his rage, the nation curled on the ground, eyes flicking up at him with hurt, fearful green eyes.

Antonio blanched, eyes widening. _Why did he do that? _Blood dripped on the floor out of Romano's wounds, staining the glass sticking out from his arm.

All in one moment Antonio was ashamed and worried, but mostly he was angry at himself. He hurt Romano, the boy he was supposed to be watching, a caretaker, and in one moment he ruined it. The Spaniard couldn't even imagine the pain coming from Romano and he sucked in a sharp breath and stumbled a few steps back, worried he may lash out again.

The boy let out a panting breath, pushing himself up on his elbows only to collapse back onto the floor with a cry of pain. Eyes flicked back at Spain, staring at him like the Italian was afraid he'd come closer and harm him. For Antonio that was too much, he opened his mouth a few times like a surprised fish, than turned on his heel and ran from the room.

Romano stared at the front door his caretaker had just run out of, unwanted tears rising, not from the pain, but from the events that had just taken place. _That idiot, _he thought with a choked sob. It hurt him, it hurt him so bad.

Violent sobs wracked through his body and he groaned, tried to sit up and see through his tears, and failing once again. A maid must have heard the commotion because a pretty young women ran in, asking him what happened at helping him stand.

Romano just shook his head and wiped his salty tears with the undamaged arm, letting the maid think he had tripped and was crying from the glass shards embedded in his skin.

The women helped him with the wound, cleaning, stitching, and dressing them properly before giving him some pain killers. Romano couldn't look at her through the entire process, his tears and shame preventing him from even raising his head as she got to work.

Afterwards, eyes puffy and sore he told her to leave. Romano went up to his room, plopping onto his soft bed and curling in on himself like a kicked puppy, before resuming the sobbing into his pillow.

Why would Antonio do that and run away? Was he that difficult to be around? Romano knew he was angry and bratty, but Spain was the one who usually saw through all that. Staying like he knew that's what Romano really wanted when he yelled for him to leave him alone. Laughing happily at his insults like he knew Romano really didn't mean them, and tucking him into bed every night although Romano insisted he didn't want him too. Antonio was the only one who meant so much to him, and even he could no longer handle the quickly angered Romano. He had isolated himself to the point he had no one, and he deserved it. He knew he deserved it.

The loneliness was crushing, and in the back of his mind he prayed Antonio would forgive him. The young nation had no idea how much time had passed when he heard footsteps coming towards his room, hesitant but quick.

The Italian heard the creaking of the door and squeezed his eyes shut, desperately clutching at the pillow resembling Antonio's Spanish flag. His tears had stopped long ago, but that didn't change the fact his eyes felt raw and his body numb.

Heavy, cautious footsteps approached his bed as the Spaniard looked down at the boy who looked so depressed, so desperate he could feel his heart squeezing in his chest. Antonio _had _to make it up to Romano. Romano had to know Antonio loved him.

He crawled slowly into bed as to not frighten the Italian clutching his hips and pulling Romano into his lap. The nation did not release the pillow as Antonio settled back against the headboard, quietly breathing a sigh of relief as he noticed the boys wounds had been taken care of. Spain opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a weak voice.

"Mi dispiace…" The boy buried his face in the pillow, tears forming once again in his eyes that drooped and stared down. Antonio's heart broke.

"No, Romano. _Lo Siento, _I got carried away. It's my fault. Don't blame yourself."

"I-I…. No, Antonio. I'm sorry. It's just that I get angry so easily and I thought you could take it. I know I'm not the easiest person to deal with, but I thought you were ok. I thought you knew I didn't mean anything. I didn't think about it. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. _Mi dispiace, _Antonip. _Mi dispiace, mi dispiace, mi dispiace." _Romano was once again sobbing painfully into his pillow. Antonio clutched him tighter to his chest, running his fingers soothingly through his soft, dark hair and whispering that it was alright.

"It's alright, Romano," Antonio murmured into his ear, vowing silently that he'd make it up to Romano later. "_Te amo. Te amo _so much, _mi amor_. Te amo."

Romano chocked at the words, finally looking up at the Spaniard before throwing his arms around the man's broad shoulders and clinging to his shirt. "_Ti amo_," he mumbled back into Spain's shoulder as the man rubbed his back, clutching him tight while petting his hair. Antonio comforted him like no one else could.

The boy emptied the rest of his tears into a clothed shoulder, letting the other man murmur comforting words in his ears and rub his trembling back. They both clung to each other, the younger letting out his regret and sorrow as the other tried to help relieve the pain as he himself clutched back at the smaller nation in an attempt at a decent apology.

Soothing hands around Romano and a thick Spanish accent in his ear felt so much better than being alone. If he wasn't so ashamed, it'd be bliss. Warm, comforting bliss.

Soon after, Romano was all cried out, tired with burning eyes. He rested fully against Antonio who in return rested his head on the Italian's. Relaxed, Romano fell asleep in the Spaniard's arms. His muscles slacking, and drooping. Soft, deep breath against Antonio's neck let him know the boy was asleep.

Antonio looked down at the little Italy, placing a soft kiss onto his head and brushing back his hair. "_Te amo, _Romano…"

They stayed like that the rest of the night. Antonio wanted to make sure he was there for him when Romano woke up in the morning. He wanted to coddle the nation, let him know he loved him, and always would.

"_Te amo."_

* * *

**_A/N:_**

**_Welp, not the best, not the worst. I looked over it, but probably not well enough. I'm way too eager when it comes to finishing things. Anyway, there it is. Even though I see them as a ship I kind of wanted to show some brotherly love from Romano's younger days. I thought it was cute, although it was probably better in my head than on paper._**


End file.
